"Annoyed."
One of the men laughed nervously.
The leader tightened his grip on the tire iron.
"We own this road."
Bear shrugged.
"Congratulations."
The man stepped forward.
"There are six of us."
"I counted."
"You really think you can stop us?"
Bear looked toward the counter.
Sarah was hidden behind it.
Then he looked back at the gang.
"No."
The leader grinned.
Bear continued.
"But I think I can make the first few minutes very unpleasant."
The leader screamed.
"GET HIM!"
The tire iron came first.
Aiming for Bear's head.
Bear stepped inside the swing.
The weapon struck his shoulder.
Pain exploded through him.
But he caught the attacker's arm.
Turned.
And redirected the man's momentum.
The leader crashed face-first into a table.
Wood splintered.
Another attacker swung a baseball bat.
Bear caught it.
His palm burned.
He pulled the man forward and struck him once.
A controlled blow.
Enough to end the fight.
For that man.
The others attacked together.
A fist hit Bear's jaw.
A boot slammed into his ribs.
Someone climbed onto his back.
Bear roared and threw the man away.
Another attacker tackled his legs.
Bear stumbled.
Sarah screamed.
Bear crashed into the jukebox.
Glass shattered around him.
Blood ran from a cut above his eye.
The Copperheads surrounded him.
The leader stood again.
His nose was broken.
Blood covered his face.
"Hold him!"
A man pulled a knife.
Bear raised his fists.
His breathing became heavy.
His ribs hurt.
His shoulder screamed.
But he stayed between them and Sarah.
He had promised.
And promises mattered.
Then the floor began to shake.
The Sound of Thunder
At first, the Copperheads thought it was the storm.
Then the coffee in the pot began to ripple.
Loose spoons rattled.
The windows vibrated.
The sound outside grew deeper.
Louder.
A synchronized roar.
One engine.
Then five.
Then ten.
Then twenty.
The Copperheads stopped moving.
The man holding the knife turned toward the door.
"What the hell is that?"
Bear wiped blood from his eye.
And smiled.
"That," he said, "is the rest of the conversation."
The parking lot exploded with light.
Motorcycles surrounded the diner.
Headlights cut through the darkness.
Chrome gleamed beneath the rain.
Engines thundered like an approaching army.
The Redeemers had arrived.
Kickstands dropped.
Boots hit the gravel.
The front door opened.
Wrench entered first.
He was broad, bald, and carrying a massive torque wrench over one shoulder.
Behind him came Tiny.
Seven feet tall.
Even he had to duck beneath the doorway.
Then came the others.
A dozen.
Then more.
They stopped when they saw Bear bleeding beside the broken jukebox.
Wrench looked at him.
"Sorry we're late, brother."
Bear straightened.
"Traffic."
Wrench glanced at the six Copperheads.
"Did you save any for us?"
Bear looked at the gang.
Then back at his brothers.
"Just the trash."
The Copperheads suddenly understood something.
A few minutes earlier, they had believed themselves to be predators.
Now they were trapped inside a diner with nearly twenty angry men.
The leader dropped the tire iron.
It struck the floor.
The knife followed.
Then the bats.
Nobody needed to say another word.
The Redeemers stepped forward.
The Copperheads stepped backward.
And the fight ended.
Not because anyone was stronger.
Not because anyone had the better weapon.
But because fear changes sides quickly when family shows up.
The Sheriff Arrives
By the time Sheriff Daniel Miller arrived, the storm had weakened to a cold drizzle.
Red and blue lights flashed across the diner.
The Copperheads sat outside with their hands restrained.
Rick was nearby, shaking so badly that he could barely stand.
Sheriff Miller stepped through the broken doorway.